Children’s Book Reviews: 10/5/2009

Recast Ferdinand the bull as a bear living in the North Woods, with hugs filling in for flower sniffing—that’s a workable summation of this debut effort. While the ursine hero may look like a hulking beast, he’s actually “so filled with love and happiness” that he gives out hugs wherever he goes—whether the recipient asked for one or not (“He even hugged creatures that bears have been known to eat”). And even more than hugging animals, the bear loves to hug trees. But when a woodsman threatens “one of the tallest, oldest, and most beautiful trees in the forest,” will the bear revert to type? Oldland’s rustic-styled digital artwork looks like a hip flannel pajama print (which is probably no coincidence, given that he’s creative director at an apparel company), and his pictures play sly comic foil to the earnest text. Ages 3–7. (Sept.)

There’s a wonderful quote from one of the great Jewish sages on the final page of this book: “The day you were born is the day God decided that the world could not exist without you.” The lullaby that unfolds on the preceding pages isn’t nearly as vivid, but it’s pretty enough. Mirik Snir’s text croons how all of creation lauded the arrival of a beloved baby: “Rain tapped a song/ Rocks rolled along/ The sea waved with glee/ When I held you close to me.” Eleyor Snir’s vignettes of land, sea and sky have a strong decorative arts feel—there’s a soupçon of endearing visual detail in the animal families that appear (the pink fur of baby monkeys, the toothy grin of a whale pod) intermingled with curvilinear shapes and undulating motifs that convey the sense of the whole world being gently rocked. The human mother and child who appear in the final scene are the least visually interesting inhabitants, but the idea of just how much little ones are treasured—by parents of every shape, size and species—comes through nonetheless. Ages 3–8. (Sept.)

Tom Tomorrow (a penname for cartoonist Dan Perkins), whose This Modern World comic strip skewers government follies, brings his gee-whiz irony and clip art–style panels to this parable of sorts, his picture book debut. The wild-eyed title character presides over “a medium-sized city.” Smiling a leprechaun’s overeager grin, he instructs police officers to dress as clowns, firefighters to substitute peanut butter for water and citizens to paint their homes green and purple. Sparky the penguin and Blinky the terrier, two sensible smart-alecks from Tomorrow’s strip, expect public outrage. Instead, clean-cut, dimwitted TV talking heads praise their leader: “Peanut butter sounds like a delicious way to fight fires!” When Sparky asks his neighbors why they would conform to ridiculous, even dangerous policies, they admit, “I didn’t want anyone to laugh at me.” They suggest that Sparky replace the mayor, but the pro-election, anti-coup penguin chooses instead to be the mayor’s adviser. While children can appreciate the absurdities, adults are most likely to chuckle at the satire. Followers of Gan Golan and Erich Origen’s parody Goodnight Bush will snap this up. Ages 4–7. (Oct.)

Young history buffs will delight as tenacious heroine Imogene Tripp fights to save her town’s ramshackle historical society building and its contents. Prone to reciting the “immortal words” of famous historical figures, Imogene spruces up the museum only to discover it’s destined for the wrecking ball. Carpenter’s (My Uncle Emily) lively pen and watercolor illustrations show Imogene’s attempts to rally support, as she distributes flyers from her father’s biplane and, in one scene, dramatically rides through the streets like Paul Revere shouting, “The bulldozers are coming!” (spot art humorously reveals her to be riding a stick pony). Endpapers feature portraits of and background about the original speakers of Imogene’s quotations, which will help novice historians put her words and actions in context. In spite of the fat-cat mayor with a name sure to elicit giggles and thanks to a lucky discovery, Imogene triumphs in a slightly over-the-top ending. Fleming (The Great and Only Barnum) also succeeds at introducing a smattering of history while entertaining with a story about the importance of preserving it. Imogene’s passion and comedic perseverance inspire. Ages 4–8. (Oct.)

What child hasn’t indulged in the delicious treachery of wishing for different parents? The young narrator in this reverie considers how good some of his friends have it, with parents who are more lenient (Katie’s “let her watch TV until eight o’clock”), more adventurous (avid campers and convertible owners) or more handy (a plumber, an architect, a hairstylist). The boy even entertains envy for a kid whose parents are divorced: mom is a pet shop owner and dad makes sure “they have a great time when they’re together.” But in the end, the narrator sticks with the thoughtful, attentive pair he was issued at birth, because “I KNOW they’re the best!” Grown-up readers may find that wrapup immensely reassuring, and everyone will enjoy Bernardin’s lively slice-of-life drawings, which have touches of Mad magazine–style exaggeration. Ages 4–8. (Oct.)

Despite its witty tongue-in-cheek tone and quirky and exuberant artwork, this love story about an earl and an unconventional duchess blurs the line between “ordinary” and “extraordinary.” The narrator insists that the extravagant duchess of Whimsy is “the life of the party” while the earl of Norm is “as normal as they come.” But the earl, whose Ichabod Crane body is shown dressed in courtly finery, seems as eccentric as the rest of the courtiers, who Peter de Sève gleefully depicts with exaggerated hairstyles and facial expressions and wearing oceans of fabric. He wears a jaunty feather in his tall, lopsided hat, and in an effort to impress the duchess, he presents her with a giraffe who tries to eat the foliage on the courtier’s hats. He even composes “sugary poetry comparing the duchess to a squid, a platypus and a penguin.” Nonetheless, she continues to pronounce him “too ordinary!” It’s not until the earl of Norm shares his ordinary grilled cheese sandwich with the duchess that she wonders if she’s misjudged him, and in the happily-ever-after end, they both find each other to be “simply extraordinary!” Ages 4–up. (Oct.)

This always-inventive father and son team (Jazz) offers up an “I am jam,” celebrating how every individual is really a collection of identities. The rap-like verse is voiced by a young narrator named Jeremy, who notices that every person he encounters sees him in a different light: to his sister, he’s a little brother; to his teacher (whose real life counterparts may find inspiration in these pages for a memorable classroom activity), he’s a writer; to a cute passerby, he’s a dancer; to his mother, he’s a dreamer. Each new identity is hailed with an exuberant fist bump: “The mailman lifted his fist./ I gave it a bam!/ It is kind of amazing all the people I am.” Jeremy clearly enjoys the dizzying possibilities that emerge from his conversations, musing at one point, “I’m walking tall and I’m walking proud./ Looked in a mirror—I look like a crowd.” Christopher Myers seconds that emotion with fluorescent and occasionally psychedelic collages that combine digital human figures (reminiscent of early iPod ads) with photographs. He conjures up a funky, visually fluid funhouse that proves pigeonholes are strictly for pigeons. Ages 5–9. (Oct.)

Winter’s (The Librarian of Basra) understated but powerful story is set in modern Afghanistan under the Taliban when girls were forbidden to attend school. Offering an adult’s perspective on the changes the country has seen, Nasreen’s grandmother serves as storyteller, her narrative obliquely noting that since the soldiers arrived in Herat, “The art and music and learning are gone. Dark clouds hang over the city.” After soldiers take Nasreen’s father away “with no explanation,” her mother defies the law by leaving home alone to look for him, never returning. Nasreen refuses to smile or talk, and her worried grandmother sneaks her into a “secret school” in a private home, where Nasreen eventually speaks again, makes friends and learns about Afghanistan’s brighter past. Though the child’s parents are still missing, her grandmother takes comfort in her realization that “the soldiers can never close the windows” that the school has opened for Nasreen. Framed by bright, striped borders, Winter’s handsome acrylic folk art effectively imparts the ominous omnipresence of Taliban soldiers, Nasreen’s social and intellectual transformation and the book’s hopeful final note. Ages 6–9. (Oct.)

The daughter of the baseball legend recalls the moment when she fully understood the courage it took for her father to break baseball’s color barrier. Jackie Robinson never learned to swim and refuses to join his kids in the lake that fronts their Connecticut estate. But when winter comes and everyone wants to go skating, Robinson overcomes his fear to test the ice for his children. “We waited for what seemed like forever,” recalls the author (Slam Dunk!), describing how the ice moans and heaves as her father taps it with a broomstick to determine its thickness. “That was Jackie Robinson. And that was my dad. Big, heavy, out there alone on the lake, testing the ice to be sure it would be safe for us.” Nelson (Henry’s Freedom Box), a Caldecott Honor artist, contributes sumptuous, cinematic paintings that immerse readers in every scene, whether it’s an eye-to-eye meeting with Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey or an idyllic summer afternoon at the family home. Readers will close the book understanding that there are many ways to be hero—and Robinson had all the bases covered. Ages 7–10. (Oct.)

A Newbery Honor author (Carver: A Life in Poems) and Caldecott Honor artist (Noah’s Ark) execute a masterful duet in this tribute to an integrated female band that toured the U.S. between the late 1930s and mid-1940s. In 20 poems titled after swing tunes, Nelson writes in the voices of the Sweethearts’ instruments, now gathered in a New Orleans pawnshop. Connecting music to greater human truths (some dark, some triumphant), the verse strikes nostalgic yet celebratory notes, underscoring how the band’s music delivered joy and hope during an era plagued by war and racism (“The jitterbug was one way people forgot/ the rapidly spreading prairie fires of war./ Man, the house would bounce when her licks were hot!/ We gave those people what they were dancing for”). Rendered in graphite, color pencil, watercolor and collage, Pinkney’s luminous, multilayered paintings superimpose snippets of musical notation on images of the musicians and audiences in full swing. Balancing these rousing scenarios are less uplifting but no less striking signs of the times: segregated sinks in a washroom, soldiers marching off to war. On all fronts, a resonant performance. Ages 10–up. (Oct.)

Fagan (the Kaspar Snit novels) continues the late Mordecai Richler’s three-book series starring an earnest boy whose name reflects the facts that he is “two plus two plus two years old” and that “nobody in his family ever heard him the first time, so he had to say everything two times.” Set after Richler’s first installment, Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang, this novel opens as the clan, relocating from England to Canada, ships out on the SS Spring-a-Leak, skippered by an amusingly vain and clueless captain. Passengers include acrobat brothers, an inept ventriloquist, a luckless toy inventor and Jacob’s spunky new pal, Cindy. Droll interaction among the characters spins into slapstick when bumbling pirates board the ship and shanghai Jacob and Cindy as pirates-in-training. Fagan crafts a zany tale that kids (in the spirit of Jacob’s doublespeak) will want to read at least twice. Petricic, whose line art complements the story’s humor, also illustrates new reissues of Richler’s previous Jacob Two-Two titles. Ages 8–11. (Sept.)

William S. Baggett, the skinny 12-year-old hero of this engaging Depression-era story, plans to use his “Getaway Fund” to escape, someday, from his lazy, vicious father and older half-siblings. Meanwhile, William hides from the chaotic, violent Baggett household in a stifling attic nook of their condemned farmhouse, reading Shakespeare and dreaming of the stage (unbeknownst to his family, William played Ariel in a high school production of The Tempest to rave reviews). Escape becomes urgent after his bullying half-brothers flush his sister Jancy’s guinea pig down the toilet. William, Jancy and their younger siblings, Trixie and Buddy, flee, aiming for their Aunt Fiona’s home several towns away. Throughout their nerve-racking journey, William relies on the Bard to calm and entertain the younger Baggetts, acting out scenes and reciting lines from The Tempest. The children’s happy reunion with their aunt proves short-lived when their father appears to claim them, though things eventually work out for the beleaguered children. Wit and pluck are rewarded in this quick-paced, high-drama adventure, which may also whet young appetites for Shakespeare. Ages 8–12. (Sept.)

Picture book author/illustrator Teague (Dear Mrs. LaRue) has produced a madcap, heavily illustrated tale chockfull of malevolent aliens and superscience as well as a fair share of silliness. The year is 1956 and young Jack Creedle is a good-natured juvenile delinquent who can work wonders with engines, while his disreputable Uncle Bud may just be the world’s greatest inventor. Equally brilliant are Isadora and her straitlaced mother, Dr. Shumway (“A lady scientist!” remarks the mayor of Jack’s town after the Shumways are stranded there. “That’s something you don’t see every day”). When alien skreeps, led by Commander Xaafuun (who hates “ooman bings”), invade in search of Bud’s most recent invention, Jack and Isadora are caught up in a rollicking interstellar adventure, replete with a crew of space pirates, a deposed princess, a wide variety of monsters and a pugnacious rooster named Milo (“Growing up had made the chicken mean. He was a typical Creedle in that way”). Borrowing wildly from pulp fiction, bad movies and even Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five, Teague has a wonderful time with this occasionally disjointed but endlessly inventive first novel. Ages 9–12. (Oct.)

Popular British author Wilson’s latest may be a tough sell—a novel that looks cheery, with Sharratt’s trademark cartoonish illustrations, but contains much darkness. The unfortunately named Beauty Cookson lives with her abusive, obnoxious, financially successful father, Gerry, and her saintly mother, Dilly, his third wife. Both mother and daughter live in fear of setting off Dad, who turns his volcanic temper on them at the slightest provocation. Beauty, a talented student with plain looks, is also unmercifully teased at school. The villains are without nuance—Dad has not a single redeeming quality beyond his income (he abhors art and homemade cookies). Beauty’s fear is palpable and sad, but her method of comforting herself by having imaginary conversations with a TV show host (think Blue’s Clues with a rabbit) may make her seem delusional. After nearly 200 pages of verbally terrorizing his wife and daughter, Dad does something so horrible that Mom finally flees with Beauty. The happily-ever-after ending seems pat given the gritty stuff that’s gone before, but if Wilson’s aim was to write a novel that makes a powerful argument for divorce, she’s succeeded. Ages 9–12. (Oct.)

McGowan makes a strong debut with this contemporary recasting of Hansel and Gretel, starring 11-year-old Sol and eight-year-old Connie Blink. Based on the notion that today’s parents could be tempted to deliver their children into the hands of a cannibalistic witch, the story relies on Sol’s intelligence, scientific acuity and talent for research, as well as Connie’s subtle cunning, deviousness and confidence in Sol, to defeat their parents’ plot—and, eventually, the witch. A spine-chillingly humorous opening by the witch—“Derek was a great disappointment to his parents. He didn’t disappoint me, though... baked with secret ingredients, and served with my very yummy, homemade key lime pie”—alerts readers to the upcoming dangers; the later revelation (again, for readers only) that Mr. and Mrs. Blink are not who they seem adds further suspense. Tanaka’s sophisticated shaded-pencil drawings, presented in full-page bleeds and plentiful spot illustrations, create a disturbing, mysterious aura and enhance the sense of danger. Shades of Roald Dahl and Lemony Snicket hover over McGowan’s tale, but up-to-date touches such as cellphones and the Internet make it especially accessible and appealing for thrill-seeking readers. Ages 9–12. (Sept.)

Blending instant messaging and screenplay-styled text into the narrative, Myracle (ttyl) begins a new series about the woes of being a tween, featuring four likable heroines all named after flowers. Katie Rose, Camilla (aka Milla), Yasaman and Violet come from different backgrounds and have distinct passions and insecurities (Yasaman is Muslim and an expert with computers; Milla, who has two mothers, struggles with her sense of self). But each could use a new friend as she begins fifth grade (“What Katie-Rose wants is a real friend, the kind that lasts forever”). Their shared distaste for meanness and their enthusiasm for the social networking site that Yasaman creates help draw the girls together—and their desire to get revenge against cruel queen bee Modessa, who has hurt each of them at some point, seals their camaraderie. The novel sends something of a mixed message about the acceptability of teasing as the girls’ plot their own prank in response to Modessa’s machinations. Still, readers will find the girls’ voices enticing and should be able to relate to their conflicts and inner anxieties. Ages 9–13.(Oct.)

There’s plenty of pomp, snootiness and closely guarded secrets to go around in this first book in a planned series, Dolby’s foray into YA writing. A group of 15 teens—plucked from the cream of New York’s Nat Sherman–smoking, Marc Jacobs bag-toting prep school elite—are given VIP passes to a glamorous underground world. Exclusive all-night parties in undisclosed locations are the norm, bottomless alcoholic beverages are supplied and unquestioning loyalty is expected. Following three chosen ones—fledgling club promoter Nick, wannabe artist Phoebe and jewelry designer/fashionista Lauren—as well as outsider Patch, the foreboding story has the feel of a hazing about to go awry, especially when the three slowly realize that the Society and its “benefits” aren’t what they seem (confirming what readers will suspect all along). While the somewhat interchangeable characters teeter into archetypal/stereotypical territory, readers are likely to be too caught up in the suspense to notice. Dolby covered similar ground—private school upbringings, influence peddling and the deceptive merits of the nouveau riche lifestyle—in his second novel for adults, The Sixth Form, but who’s complaining if the formula works? Ages 12–up. (Oct.)

Austin Gray is sick of being an overlooked ninth-grader in her small Texas town (“I was just tired of feeling less-than, tired of waving back and being passed by”). Six years after losing her father, Austin endures endless taunting by the school bully, Dean, and unintentional alienation by her overprotective mother (still unwilling to broach the subject of her husband’s death) and her best friend, Maribel (“We were parallel friends going through life together but in two different worlds”). Overdue for a moment in the spotlight, Austin decides to raise a spirited Black Rosecomb Bantam rooster (which she names Charles Dickens), with the intention of winning a prize in the Future Farmers of America contest and being the star of the annual Christmas parade. Alexander’s debut is marked by a colorful supporting cast, fresh dialogue and Southern personality, which contribute to an entertainingly theatrical vision of smalltown life. The strong but precarious mother-daughter bond is well paired to the themes of finding inner strength and self-acceptance and letting go of the past. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Carey examines the intertwined natures of life and death in this enticing but problematic fantasy. After 17-year-old Kipp loses home and family (save for his little sister) in a fire, he becomes obsessed with beating death (known as the Gwali) so he’ll never lose anyone he loves again. A deal with a witch allows him to steal the Gwali’s horse and sack of souls (Kwaja), but forces Kipp to remain on the move, avoiding the Gwali and keeping Kwaja from stealing souls while Kipp seeks a way to destroy it. Along the way, he falls in love, battles injustice, confronts his enemies and comes to terms with his family’s death, while discovering the true nature of both the Gwali and Kwaja. Carey (Dragon’s Keep) tries to explore difficult themes—death, the onset of adulthood and cultural prejudice—but the many ideas introduced aren’t given time to shine. Fairy tale elements and poetic descriptions lend a mythic quality, but stilted language and the sense that the story is stuck on fast-forward, as days and weeks fly by, make it hard to get deeply involved in Kipp’s travails. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

In this debut novel, Anastasia Romanov, believed to have died in a bloody massacre with the rest of the Russian royal family, is alive, but held captive by Baba Yaga, an evil witch from Russian folklore. In present-day Chicago, 16-year-old Anne Michaelson has recurring dreams of the death of Anastasia’s family and Anastasia’s imprisonment. Handsome and mysterious Ethan Kozninsky has waited nearly a century to find Anne (“Now it’s occurring to me that smashing her to the floor in between classes in order to inform her that she is the girl who alone has the power to save the Grand Duchess Anastasia... is just possibly not the best plan I’ve ever had,” he thinks). This novel of star-crossed love rotates between the perspectives of Anne, Anastasia and Ethan. While Preble’s overall concept is interesting, the prose can be rambling, and the alternating points of view make the story feel choppy and, at times, confusing. The dialogue and romantic element come off as clichéd and fall short of Preble’s ambitious idea. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Known for lyrical, intoxicating prose and magical realism, Block delves into the vampire mythos with a racy story that sizzles and satisfies. While the story she spins (century-old vampire lives as Charlotte, a 17-year-old girl who has everything except true love, real friends and mortality) offers nothing new to the overstuffed niche, its simple beauty—and its slight heft—lies in its lustrous details (Paris of the 1920s comes alive in Charlotte’s “celery-green silk crepe sheath”). Many iconic moments from this past century—the bombing of Hiroshima, Woodstock, John Lennon’s murder, Kurt Cobain’s suicide—are given brief but vividly described due. Charlotte’s master-and-servant relationship over several decades with her “maker,” William Stone Eliot, is overtly erotic (“death in the guise of love, a dark-haired man... who bows his head to your breast, and bares, and punctures, and raptures and drains until you are empty and he is full”), as is her twisted and only slightly less sultry romance with the tragically handsome Jared Pierce, which acts as the perfect contemporary foil. Ages 14–up. (Oct.)

Kwasney’s evocative story shifts between the lives of three struggling 15-year-old girls being raised by single mothers in small New York cities. Madeline, living in 1977 Elmira, N.Y., is overweight, depressed and overburdened: “I will always be stuck here. In this spot. In this body. I will never be a spirit. Or anything other than what I am,” she thinks. Her life consists of babysitting her alcoholic mother, until she meets sensitive Tad and begins to hope for a life with a stable family. In 1993, Desiree, whose story is told in free verse, is raped by her mother’s boyfriend, Larry, becomes pregnant and flees with her boyfriend, Jeremy, who believes he is the father. And in present-day Poughkeepsie, overachieving Ariel’s ambitions and friendships are stifled by her controlling boyfriend. Ultimately the girls’ stories converge as they cope with the hands they’ve been dealt (“We all inherit someone else’s leftovers,” Ariel muses) and attempt to build better lives. Kwasney’s (Itch) protagonists are distinctive and empathetic, her narratives meticulously structured and realistic, exposing the unpredictability—and sometimes unfairness—that life can bring. Ages 14–up. (Oct.)

Pyron’s debut introduces Mardie, a 15-year-old who drinks, smokes pot, does poorly in school and generally disappoints her family. Stumbling across the boxing class at her stepmother’s gym isn’t an instant fix, but when she does hit rock bottom (getting arrested for shoplifting shortly after she catches the boy she’s been seeing cheating on her), it offers her a lifeline to help put her life back together. Inspired by her coach, Kitty, Mardie focuses on boxing and her mandated community service at a home for special needs children, becoming physically and emotionally grounded. Mardie’s journey is far from smooth, as her family’s internal struggles and her falling-out with her best friend dominate much of her time. Although the action sequences are well written, it’s Mardie’s character development that will hook readers: she’s plenty capable of making mistakes, but just as able to eventually learn from them. It’s standard problem novel material, but Pyron does an admirable job of conveying teenage troubles while generally avoiding the feel of an after-school special, and hits at social issues like racism and homophobia without proselytizing. Ages 14–up. (Sept.)

Adventures from the land of pop-ups.

A host of familiar friends pop up in the neighborhood in this novelty book, timed to coincide with the 40th anniversary of the TV show. Elmo serves as a guide, taking readers through spreads that introduce various residents as well as lightly touch on different concepts (such as matching, counting, recycling and opposites). Pull tabs add another dimension to the pop-ups: at the Laundromat, Ernie, Bert and Elmo rock back and forth during a jam session, while Cookie Monster’s arm stirs a bowl in the kitchen. The bright photographic spreads are eye-catching, and the array of interactive activities should keep readers entertained. Ages 3–up. (Oct.)

The small format of Reinhart’s latest pop-up book belies the number of classic nursery rhymes he packs inside. A pop-up Humpty Dumpty falls from a red brick wall (and begins to crack up) as his spread opens, while smaller flaps to the side open to reveal the garden of “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary,” as well as a cake marked with a “B” for “Pat-a-Cake.” Additional spreads feature three rhymes each; in perhaps the most dramatic pop-up, a more cute-than-scary “Itsy Bitsy Spider” rides on a wave of water gushing from a towering waterspout. Ingenious details abound—the thoughtfulness put into every movement is evident. Ages 3–up. (Sept.)

A larger-than-life frog can’t fit into this self-proclaimed “pop out” book. “If only she were smaller,” Big Frog thinks, as a pull tab lets readers shrink her extra-long legs (turning her frown into a toothy smile); another thought bubble has her wishing to be “more bendable,” as she’s seen twisted up, Gumby-style). But with some help from friends (a crew of tiny frogs—though Pigeon also makes a cameo), Big Frog finds a solution: “Make a bigger book!” shout signs on an enormous and intricate final spread. A sunny tribute to the power of friendship to provide ingenuity, help and cheer. Ages 4–8 (Oct.)

In this story drawn from Potter’s The Tale of Mr. Tod, Peter Rabbit and his cousin Benjamin ignore their parents’ advice to stay close to home because of the lurking fox, Mr. Tod. On each page, tiny envelopes appear, containing sparkling, removable snowflakes that readers can collect as the boys encounter characters like Mrs. Tittlemouse, whose babies have gone missing, and Mr. Cat. After a run-in with the sly fox, Benjamin and Peter rush home, where a giant fir tree, the book’s sole pop-up, unfolds into a glittering, icy blue monument, on which readers can place the snowflakes. It’s a subtle gem with a big finish. Ages 5–8. (Oct.)

This collection of six familiar fairy tales about princesses pairs a unique design with lush acrylics and stirring retellings. The titles for the stories are presented on lift tabs, which unveil pop-up representations of scenes from each: for “The Wild Swans,” a red-haired princess nestles in a green nest as she’s charioted by the flock of birds. The pop-up aspect, while elegant, takes a backseat to Ehrlich’s poetic renditions (“The Wild Swans” was previously published as a stand-alone; the other five appeared in the 1985 collection, The Random House Book of Fairy Tales) and Blythe’s textural paintings, which impart the princesses and their surroundings with striking luminance. Ages 7–up. (Sept.)

In this engaging adaptation, the story and songs from this Rodgers and Hammerstein musical are found in side panels that can be read like miniature books. Meanwhile, dramatic pop-ups bring the setting to life. In the opener, Maria spins like a ballerina in the Austrian countryside, dwarfed by snowy mountains. Later, she walks down the aisle on her wedding day (“Maria always said that 'girls in white dresses’ were among her favorite things, but she never thought she would be one of them!”). Clever engineering creates artful details and visual dimension, giving readers the sense that they’ve stepped inside the story. Ages 9–12. (Oct.)

These lushly illustrated hardcover gift books are meant to be cherished for years to come.

An interplanetary landscape serves as the backdrop to Alice’s journey in this fantastical rendition, which fits into a sturdy slipcase. Alice—whose long blonde hair is streaked with gray and facial features seem almost haunted—encounters a cast of familiar characters who, in Matthews’s hands, have exaggerated, alien qualities: an especially bestial March Hare and a goblinlike Mad Hatter appear at the tea party, as a living tree looks on. In addition to surreal and vibrant full-spread scenes, b&w spot art often appears beside Carroll’s text. Matthews’s original and psychedelic conception befits the story’s unworldly essence. All ages. (Sept.)

Full-bleed vintage illustrations by Jessie Willcox Smith, Maxfield Parrish, Margaret Evans Price and others grace the pages of this cheerful 9”×9” hardcover book, divided into five sections: arts and crafts activities, condensed fairy tales, songs, games and nursery rhymes. The projects are simple and have buoyant instructions (steps to make “Animal Masks” suggest, “Add some hairs if you are a mammal, scales if you are feeling reptilian, or feathers to fluff in the birdbath”); songs such as “Old MacDonald” and “Ants Go Marching” include musical notation; and familiar stories and rhymes appear as well. The lively assemblage will appeal to toddlers, and the heirloom images should captivate them as well as nostalgic adults. Up to age 3. (Sept.)

Julie Andrews and her daughter’s selection of material for children contains works by figures as diverse as Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Rodgers and Hammerstein, A.A. Milne and Shel Silverstein, as well as offerings by Andrews and Hamilton. McMullan’s paintings express the sometimes silly, sometimes melancholic temperaments of the pieces, which together form a tapestry of human emotions and experiences, grand and small. The broad potpourri of voices, given a modern yet comforting flair by the artwork, is bound to become a favorite. An audio CD with poems read by Andrews and Hamilton is included. Ages 4–8. (Oct.)

Powerful quotations from 366 revered artists, writers, political figures and other visionaries mark every day of the calendar year along with striking block-print portraits (Elvis is shown with a burning sacred heart) in this elegantly packaged book. While the order of the quotations seems arbitrary—quotations from Allen Ginsberg, Socrates and Bill Moyers rub shoulders, while Julia Child is slotted next to Madonna—the result is an inspiring collage-like tribute to human potential. Brief biographies are listed in the back. Ages 8–up. (Sept.)

Stevenson’s prototypical swashbuckling story receives a traditional treatment in this unabridged, oversize version. Lawrence evokes the essence of classic adventure stories with his vinyl-cut illustrations, as thick black shapes are tempered by muted tones of blue, gold and green. The grimacing faces of pirates are appropriately blemished and begrimed, elegant vessels are seen moored under a starry sky and the island’s wild intrigue is captured in subtle, grainy glimpses. As they follow Jim Hawkins to sea, readers will feel they’ve discovered a true relic with this edition. Ages 9–14. (Oct.)

A pensive, titian-haired Alice trips down the rabbit hole in this adaptation that pairs the classic story with gracefully expressive illustrations. Ingpen’s detailed visions of the menagerie of creatures Alice meets lend them anthropomorphic qualities while remaining anatomically precise. The Cheshire cat, who peers out at Alice from a crowd of leaves with a milk-tooth smile, does so with kittenish serenity. The infamous tea-party is a cozy affair with intimate soft-focus portraits in pencil of the sleepy dormouse, hare (who dips his watch into his cup of tea) and the rather bleary Mad Hatter, whose pencil-drawn sidewise glances suggest it’s all dreamy good fun. A lovely and faithful interpretation. Ages 10–up. (Nov.)